


Infatuation: AKA Lights, Camera, Action - Scene 4

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Humor, Series: Infatuation AKA Litghts Camera Action, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-19
Updated: 1999-04-19
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Turnbull needs help making his copy of the tape and Meg comes to his rescue. This story is a sequel to Infatuation: AKA Lights, Camera, Action - Scene 3.





	Infatuation: AKA Lights, Camera, Action - Scene 4

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Due South: Infatuation AKA Lights, Camera, Action  
Scene 4 **Warnings: TDL, Turnbull,  
tapes, lust, electronic equipment, and...**  **Promises: Benny/Ray  
replay, sex, roll playing, sex, fantasy, sex.  Rating: R, M/M, M/F  
sort of. **

Author's notes. A sentence followed by a # is a direct quote (video tape replay) from Lights 2 or 3 by the Fish lady & the Kiwi. Have fun figuring out which scene. Yes. I know it's not proper ms. form. So screw-- I mean ... sue me.   
  

#  Infatuation: AKA Lights, Camera, Action

#  SCENE FOUR

by Mitch Hudson

Meg struggled through the Video Store's entrance, the bulky rented VCR contorting her slim form with its cumbersome weight. She hoisted it up on the counter and glared at the overworked sales clerk. She wanted to check the thing back in and get home to reassure herself the copy was still on her night-stand. It had been a frustrating evening trying to connect the rental machine to the camcorder and copy the tape before dropping the original and the camcorder off at Turnbull's apartment. Then she's sat up untill dawn watching the copy on the rental machine. She was in no mood to stand here waiting on some buffoon another second. 

*

Constable Turnbull accepted the rental machine from the young clerk and turned to make his way through the queue of customers. Before completing that first step he bumped none too gently into the Inspector. She glared in his direction then he was shocked to see her blanch white. 

"Pardon me, Sir." He reached to tip his hat then realized he wasn't wearing it. Wordlessly he scuttled around her and out the door. 

*

The blank tape jammed again and Turnbull struggled to extricate it from the rental VCR. Black shiny ribbon trailed from the plastic case in his hand and into the machine. It reminded him of entrails. He felt like pitching it across the room, but that wasn't something _HE_ would do, was it? No. _HE'D_ calmly lay the offending cassette down and repair the problem. 

Wrong again. _HE'D_ never make such a mess in the _first_ place. 

Turnbull hurried out of the apartment to buy a new tape, despairing of ever making a copy before the camcorder was due back in the morning. He wasn't even sure he had the machines connected correctly. 

The streets were wet and dark as he approached the video store which, just his luck, was closed. But there was an electronics store in the next block. They sold VCR's so surely they'd sell blank tapes. 

He got a pack of three tapes and waited behind two other customers. Quiet grumbling behind his back alerted him to her presence. He tried not to turn. She'd see the guilt on his face just as she had in the video store. But she sounded in distress. He turned to offer her aid just as _HE_ would. "Sir?" He didn't know what to say. She was balancing a box in her arms. A very big box. A VCR. "May I?" 

"No thank you, Turnbull. I'd rather leave the store with the machine still in one piece." 

Oh. This morning she was returning a rental VCR, now she was buying one. Perhaps, oh dear, perhaps she had not spoken the truth last evening when she'd delivered the camcorder to him. Perhaps she _had_ watched the tape. She must have made a copy. **_Oh dear_**. Yes. That's what _HE'D_ say. Turnbull stared toward the register, feeling a bit weak in the knees. 

A grunt made him turn again. "Please, sir, take my place in line." He stepped aside and she stepped forward. 

The clerk handed Meg her receipt. 

"I'll call someone to carry it out for you, Ma'am." 

Then Turnbull stood beside her, his purchase in hand waiting for the promised help to arrive. "I'd be very careful, sir," he offered again. 

Meg glared around at the crowded store. It would obviously be a long wait for someone more competent to help her. "Fine," she acquiesced. 

He followed her to her car and placed the box gently in the trunk. 

"Do you need a ride home, Constable?" 

"Yes, Sir," he eagerly accepted, struggling to phrase a question he had to ask. The ride was short and he still didn't have it right when she stopped as his apartment building. But he turned to her and asked. "Sir, were you successful in making a copy?" 

Her head whipped around at him and he felt instantly burned from her glare. She opened her mouth, snapped it shut, then opened it again. He felt like he was suffocating. 

"Yes," she hissed. 

"Then please, sir. Could you help me? I can't get the rental machine to work." 

She didn't say anything, just turned off the car and got out. He followed her into the building and pressed the elevator button. 

*

"This cable is wrong," she snapped as she rearranged the connections he'd made. "And hold the cassette level when you put it in." She pressed the record button and turned on the TV. 

He sank to the floor in front of the machines. It was the fuzzy part. There was the detective. Turnbull held his breath and waited, just like so many times before. Then _He_ came into focus. # 

"Your copy won't be as good as the original. Vecchio's face isn't quite as clear." 

Vecchio's face? Who cared? He scooted back and leaned against the cushioned chair his commanding officer sat in. The button on _HIS_ jeans seemed to magically come undone. The zipper slid down and he caught the first glimpse of what created that mesmerizing bulge in _HIS_ uniform pants. How many times had a glimpse of that bulge sent Turnbull running to the solitude of the bathroom? 

Parted lips touched Ben's cock head, wet lips, moistening it. Turnbull licked his fingertips and ran them slowly across his own lips. Ben would be silky smooth, pushing his way deep into Turnbull. 

Ben. Yes, Ben would arch _HIS_ back as _HE_ thrust _HIS_ hot shaft in, plunging over and over into Turnbull's wet mouth. That tremor he saw run through Ben's muscular body would ripple beneath his hands. He leaned forward, gazing at Ben's face as the man reached orgasm. Vecchio swallowed. So did Turnbull. 

There was a blank space on the tape, then he had the side view of Ben's bed. The Mountie's mouth descended on Vecchio and Turnbull almost felt the sweet touch of those glossy-silk lips on his own stiffening shaft. His jeans were too tight and he leaned back. He longed to take them off but that was impossible with her here. 

"Ben," he silently formed the beautiful name. He could pump into Ben's mouth. He could make those firm cheeks bulge with each thrust of his penis. Turnbull shifted restlessly on the floor. 

Vecchio was teasing Ben now, telling him to say please. Turnbull would _never_ do that to _HIM_. He'd cater to Ben's every wish, fulfill his every desire. Vecchio was over _HIM_ , pumping deep into Ben's mouth and Ben seemed to like it. Turnbull swore silently. He could do that for Ben. Maybe he could. Vecchio kept going an awfully long time. Then the detective forced Ben to touch _Himself._

Turnbull pictured his hand there, just like he'd done the first time he'd watched this scene. His hand would stroke up and down Ben's hard length, rubbing the gossamer texture, squeezing just as Ben did. He'd do it in the consulate bathroom. He'd do it sitting under Ben's desk if Ben needed it. A little relief during a hectic day? Oh yes. 

Ben's slim hips, so perfectly proportioned rose slightly from the bed with each thrust. Vecchio's mouth descended onto Ben, obscuring Turnbull's view. Ben's body tightened. Turnbull felt his own balls pull up against his body. He forced himself to calm down. Ben climaxed, milky whiteness that Vecchio carelessly allowed to escape his lips spreading down Ben's fingers and onto his thighs. Wasted, Turnbull despaired as he licked his lips. It would be delicious and Vecchio had let it be wasted. It coated Ben's glistening skin and Turnbull longed to lick it up. 

They rolled onto their sides and all he could see was Vecchio's back. Turnbull sank back in misery and watched the scene roll to an end. 

"You should check the copy." 

"Wha ... oh, yes Ma'am." He'd slipped and called her Ma'am. How many times had she allowed him to call her sir as Ben did? Oh well. He stopped both machines and stared bewildered at the cords. 

"Here," she said shoving him none too gently aside. "This in here, and the copy in this machine. Now." She started it again. 

Turnbull stood beside her as the detective appeared again and seated himself on Ben's Spartan bed. 

The inspector sat in the chair and he felt her push at him to move aside. Turnbull wheeled around and grabbed the chair arms. He pulled it sideways and fixed his eyes on the screen again. They both had an unobstructed view. 

He stood almost over her and saw Vecchio's hands on Ben's jeans. Turnbull was barely aware as he fumbled at his own button. Hands replaced his as he watched Ben's zipper descend. Ben's hard cock was withdrawn from the restraining fabric as the Inspector pulled his free. 

Ben's head went back as a look of primal pleasure swept over his face. Turnbull schooled his features to match Ben's classic face. That wet mouth was on him. He shivered. He couldn't last long. Ben's hips bucked and Turnbull followed the rhythm. His balls drew up. He shuddered, waves of sexual agony washed over him. His skin burned, his heart raced and still he saw only Ben. He clamped his hands around her head as he saw Ben's fingers, so sure, so deft stroke his partner. He tried to move the same but the roar in his ears was building. His back arched and he cried out. He came with Ben. 

*

Turnbull collapsed at her feet. Meg licked the last drop of cum from her lip just as Vecchio was doing and imitated the detective's smug smile. She stuck her lower lip out, pouting it as he always seemed to do. 

The lighting flickered and there Vecchio was, stretched full length, completely naked. He looked so long and lean. Was he taller than Ben? The constable dropped heavily onto Vecchio. He seemed to like being underneath. She dropped onto the prone figure in front of her. 

The detective was being kissed, long deep kisses. Meg's head descended. As she trailed the kisses down to his neck Turnbull scooted around so they were both able to see the screen. 

She tore Turnbull's shirt open and listened to Vecchio's patter of moans and Italian as she trailed down to her goal. Her head came up as Vecchio squawked out a desperate "What?" 

Fraser smiled. "Say please." 

Turnbull gasped. "Please," he groaned out the word. 

She heard Vecchio echo him, but more demanding. "OK, OK .  .  . Please  .  .  ." # 

She wouldn't torture him as Fraser was doing. She bent lower and sucked the cock into her mouth. 

"Not right," Turnbull murmured. "Ben... Ben..." 

Finally Fraser gave into Vecchio's sweet moans and she heard the detective gasp. She pulled up to gaze at his enraptured face. That bottom lip, so full, so succulent was in profile. She watched it move in and out as he almost gasped for breath. Then it started, his leisurely rhythm that had so captivated her the moment she'd set eyes on his naked form. Turnbull had just had an orgasm. It was a good thing. He was still semi-hard and he would have never stood a chance of lasting as long as Vecchio. 

Then Ray's smile, so sublime slipped across his face and she was lost in the depth of his almost bottomless green eyes. She'd never noticed them before seeing them on tape, how striking and clear they were. 

He was turning around so his face was over Fraser's stiff cock, his movements supple and so graceful. She moved over Turnbull and tried to pull him over her as Ray was doing. The constable resisted her movements, then inexplicably complied. 

Ray's hips plunged down and she felt her mouth filled with a hardening erection. He had such style. She pushed Turnbull's thigh up higher so she had a clear view of the detective. Now Fraser was asking for Ray to suck him with those incredibly red lips. Ray was sassy, giving back even more than he'd taken from Fraser earlier. Meg smiled as she saw the merriment in his eyes. He was having such a good time moving in and out of Fraser's mouth. Turnbull rocked in and out of her lips. She thought she heard him murmuring, then felt him tugging at her skirt, hiking it up to her hips. His thumbs, amazingly deft for once, tugged her underwear down and she lifted her hips to make it easier for him. 

On screen the two men moved against each other with practiced ease. Ray's long frame was such a graceful complement to Fraser's solid build. His skin was darker, richer looking, in comparison to Fraser's pale form. 

"Go on, Benny  .  .  ." # 

"Oh, Ben," Turnbull breathed the name like a prayer. "Do it, Ben." 

Meg felt her hand tugged to the moistness between her legs as Ray moved Fraser's fingers to his own cock. Would Ray make her do that too? She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the wet sounds coming from the TV. 

Ray was moving her hand in a rhythm now. No, Turnbull was. God! His slim fingers felt so good on her hand. She heard Ray murmur encouragingly. Then his mouth descended onto her. Her eyes flew open and she saw Ray swirling his head, his tongue busy doing delightful things. She couldn't help it, she bucked against that sucking contact, trying not to interrupt the rhythm of the man driving into her mouth. Ray was driving her crazy with his gentle, yet demanding touches. Ahh. Too much. Ohh. Her body convulsed, muscles spasmed as she came. 

Ray didn't stop. His taught ass pumped up and down, his fingers moved over hers, pushing her fingers deeper inside herself as he sucked and sucked. She hadn't come all the way down from the first high and she was almost off the edge again. Fraser was coming silently, his mouth still full of Ray's amazingly stiff cock. Ray was ready. He swallowed and swallowed and Meg came and came. 

Her muscles quivered with exhaustion but Ray hadn't come yet. She pulled Turnbull's mouth from her now too sensitive flesh. He seemed to understand what she wanted and they rolled on their side. She studied Ray's broad shoulders as his hips continued to drive deeper into his partner's mouth. 

Turnbull distracted her as he began to murmur again. "Ben, Ben, Ben." The words were in time to his thrusts. 

Ray was getting more drawn into the things being done to him. The constable was sucking on his nipple. Ray was so sensitive, she marveled. His body was like a finely tuned machine. He was getting louder, yelling his pleasure for his partner to hear. So thoughtful, so loving a man. He stiffened, coming. 

She renewed her efforts of pleasuring the man beside her, skimming her nails across his tight balls. 

Turnbull gasped. "Ben! Oh God, Ben. Please. Oh, oh," his voice died off as he thrust hard, again, and a last time, spilling his seed into her mouth. 

Vecchio shuddered and sank into Fraser's embrace, still and sated at last. 

Meg didn't move as the tape ran to an end. 

". .  .   locking myself in the consulate bathroom  .  .  ." # 

"What?" she asked, raising up on an elbow. 

"Nothing sir. Just .  .  .   I wanted to say thanks for helping me out .  .  .   making the copy and all." 

She eased back on the floor and stared at the ceiling. "Certainly, Constable." 

THE END 

.  .   .   .   of this part. Nnneeeext?   
    
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